Poetry for Loonies

Tue, 11 Feb 2003 08:35:36

I've discovered the secret pattern of waking up in the
morning.

I've turned into a poem, because a song would lose the
FEELING!

ahem...

"MORNING ARRIVES LIKE A RABID BUFFALO IN HEAT"

When you wake up in the morning,
it comes without a warning.
At first you lie, half awake,
your legs will hurt, your neck will ache.
As you sit, the worst begins,
you flex your hands, which feel like pins.
You try to stretch, but hear a "crack",
and you guessed right---it was your back.
Next the neck, which never works,
you roll it around, and pull and jerk,
Suddenly, it locks in place,
which brings a squashed look to your face.

When you stand, you notice well,
that BOTH your legs feel like hell.
They feel like Jello, the reason is clear:
they wiggle and flop, so you fall on your rear.

At last you get the bathroom sink,
but your brain is not quite ready to think.
Your brain feels "fuzzy", you head is spinning,
(Your fighting a war, but Sleep is winning)
Your head feels sludgy, soupy and cold,
as if your brain were growing mold,
You start to fall asleep with ease,
as your brain transforms to Cottage Cheese.

You wake up on the bathroom floor,
(at least you slept an hour more!)
you use the tub to reach the sink,
your eyes are red, your cheeks are pink,
you wish that you could call in sick,
but you don't want people to think you're a Prick.

you grab the soap, a hopeless race,
because you cannot feel your face,
you'd love to comb your hair as well,
but from the fall...your arms have swelled.
Your legs have finally turned to mush,
Another reason your hair's not brushed.
For who can safely comb with style,
When their legs feel much like oozing bile?

You hop back to the bedroom now,
to get dressed quick (don't ask me how).
You grab your shoes and tie them tight,
and run like hell with all your might,

You get outside and look around...
your ears have heard an interesting sound.
You'd still be running for the car,
If you hadn't heard this from afar.
The sound of church bells far away,
Informs you well that it is SUNDAY.

You don't look back...you fall where you stand.
and give the world a sarcastic hand.
Then, with your last dozing words,
You yell to all the singing birds:

"I'd go to bed if I felt my legs...
so HERE I'm going to lie.
and I don't think I have to beg...
Just leave me here to die."